


Do You Know What I Dream? - See Nash Write: The Best of the Shorts

by SeeNashWrite



Series: SeeNashWrite: The Best of the Shorts [29]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Drabble, F/M, Holidays, Introspection, Romance, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeNashWrite/pseuds/SeeNashWrite
Summary: To borrow a bit from the bard - Remember, hope, wish, sleep, and see what dreams may come.





	Do You Know What I Dream? - See Nash Write: The Best of the Shorts

**Author's Note:**

> Via a drabble challenge with fill-in-the-blank(s) Christmas carols for the title - mine was "Do You Hear What I Hear?"

Sleep, perchance to dream - wasn’t that how it went? She wondered if he chose to dream when he closed his eyes. She knew by heart the ways he slept, regardless. **  
**

When none would come, on an ordinary night when his mind was heavy with untold thoughts, he was like a rock, unmoved, almost rigid, even in the arms that sometimes encircled her until he pulled away and fell asleep.

When the satisfied sort would come, after sex, he was loose, quiet, hands firm, legs wrapped, protective, burrowed into the soft curves of her, hot skin and sighs.

When the embattled kind would come, after hunts, exhausted, he was messy, linens wound around limbs, tangled, traces of sweat left on the pillows. 

And as if he knew when the nightmares would come, he would turn away, tightly curled, and she could tell by the shuddering of his shoulders, the chills up his spine, the catches in his breaths, just how deep they cut.

But in  _real_ dreams, the ones where hopes and wishes lived, he would have a contented hum in his chest, an ease to the beat of his heart, like a tuned, purring, well-loved engine. And, he was. Well-loved. Whether he’d ever realize it or not.

She’d seen a picture in his stash once - he seemed barely a step away from infancy, the sparkle of strung lights behind him, surrounded by gleefully-torn paper, the memory captured just as he’d looked up in blissful shock from the present, a toy car gripped tightly in tiny hands, his lips forming an exclamation, preserved and lost to time, all at once.

After he’d shown up at her door that snowy Christmas Eve night, and he’d shed ripped, bloodied clothes, stayed in the shower til the water ran cold, he’d only warmed himself by the fireplace briefly before moving to stand at the tree in the corner of the den. The tea was still steeping, so she stood silently at the door. And she waited.

She watched as he leaned in, inhaled the pine. She watched as he spotted it, the newest ornament, the one that was front and center. He brought a hand up, finger against the rear bumper, gave it a gentle push, sending the shiny black enamel swinging back and forth. She watched as it all came back to him.

On  _this_ night, by the fire, they’d made love, and she knew because he told her. He asked in a drowsy mumble how she’d known about his favorite Christmas, the one he’d forgotten. He promised he’d never forget this one. And then, he dreamed.

So did she.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is fuel! Let me know if you enjoyed. -Nash


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